


A Stratagem

by geekmama



Series: Aftermath [14]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: F/M, Fluff and Angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-13
Updated: 2017-11-13
Packaged: 2019-02-01 19:19:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,541
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12711300
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/geekmama/pseuds/geekmama
Summary: Guess who's coming to brunch?Part 12 ofAftermath, and follows directly afterPreparations.





	A Stratagem

**Author's Note:**

> Part 12 of 15 of the [Aftermath series](https://archiveofourown.org/series/848343).
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
> ***********************************

Molly, with Sherlock at her back, opened the front door. She smiled in spite of her nerves, for she was genuinely fond of Millicent and Vernet Holmes, the astonishing couple who’d produced three of the most exceptional beings on the planet. Astonishing -- and yet the soul of kindness. Some of her previous meetings with them came forcibly to mind -- tea in their comfortable back garden, discussing her part in Sherlock’s “fall” and all of them grieving over the many distressing aspects of the situation; that long, frank conversation she’d had with Millicent in the canteen of the hospital where Sherlock lay a few floors above, struggling to recover from the bullet Mary had put into him. Oh, God. They had been through so much in the last few years, all of them, but particularly these good-natured, intelligent people standing on her front porch, and now she wanted nothing more than to throw protective arms about the two of them and spare them this additional pain, which lay like a terrible shadow over the occasion. 

However, both Sherlock and Mycroft were counting on her, and to fail them would be unthinkable. She therefore said, “Hello! I’m so happy to see you again. Please, do come in!” 

“It’s good to see you, too, dear,” Millicent Holmes exclaimed brightly and immediately embraced her. Then she favored Sherlock with a shrewd, speaking glance. “And you’re looking well, my son. Ah! _Sons,_ ” she corrected, having spied Mycroft. “And Alicia! Good heavens, I believe this is quite unprecedented! Are _both_ my confirmed bachelors set to grant my fondest wish and settle down?” 

“Now, Mother,” Vernet chided amiably, “don’t tease the boys. These things have their season.” 

“Season!” Millicent gave a mirthless snort of laughter. “It may still be mid-summer with Sherlock, but Mycroft’s autumnal equinox is peeking round the corner.” She gave her already exasperated elder son an amused simper before continuing, “No, very well, I won’t say another word. And, indeed, it’s lovely to see you again, Alicia.” 

“Thank you, Millicent,” Lady Smallwood said, though her tone was wryly amused. 

Both Sherlock and Mycroft permitted their mother to embrace them, each betraying only a minimum of awkwardness, and then Molly said, “Brunch is almost ready, but let’s go into the kitchen and pour some drinks, shall we?” 

“Whatever the doctor orders,” Vernet agreed, and added, jovially,. “It’s after noon somewhere!” 

Mycroft rolled his eyes a bit, but Sherlock’s groan was cut short by a nudge from Molly’s elbow. She gave both him and his brother a swift _look_. This was not the time for displays of undutiful sarcasm. 

Sherlock’s lips quirked against a smile, but Mycroft only sighed, looking as depressed as she’d ever seen him. 

However, he and his brother perked up considerably as Molly led the way into the kitchen where an inviting display of libations and glasses had been set out on a side table. 

“I’ll have a Mimosa,” said Millicent. “Light on the orange juice, if you please. I understand that we’re here because there is news to impart, and I suspect it’s not only the fact that my youngest has at last come to his senses in your regard, Molly. Though… do tell me he’s not merely imposing upon you again because of the damage to 221B?” 

Vernet said, rather apologetically, “We did go by your flat last evening, Sherlock, when we got into town. Wanted to say hello to Martha Hudson, at least -- but obviously she is away, too, while repairs are going on. What happened? Everyone’s alright?” 

“We’re all fine,” Sherlock said, evenly. “It was… someone’s idea of a joke, actually.” 

“A joke?!” Millicent exclaimed. “That’s outrageous!” 

“It was a warning,” Mycroft said. “And to get us out of the house. But the… ah… trickster _wanted_ to be apprehended. And was. Now it’s just a matter of waiting on repairs.”

“But you are correct,” Sherlock put in, accepting a flute of Segura Viudas Cava from Molly. “I _have_ come to my senses in Molly’s regard, as I believe was implied in that text I sent you yesterday.” 

“Yes,” said Millicent, sipping her Mimosa and looking at her youngest in some wonder. “I did as you requested by the way.” 

Sherlock smiled, and then gave Molly a haughty _none of your business_ look. 

Molly, tamping down the odd thrill that had shot through her at this interchange between Sherlock and his mother, merely shook her head and said, evenly,. “Very well, keep your secrets. But come help me put brunch on the table, will you? It’s all ready, I just need to pop the frittata under the broiler for a couple of minutes.” 

Everyone helped, actually, and before many minutes had passed they were all sitting down to what Millicent termed a veritable feast. 

“Molly, you’ve outdone yourself!” she said, surveying the dishes on offer. “It’s all lovely! Just like Spain, but better, with a touch of England.” 

Molly laughed. “Thank you! I do hope you like it.” 

“How could we help it?” Vernet smiled. “One can see you’ve put a great deal of love into it.” 

“Speaking of which,” put in his wife, “let’s have a toast. To Molly and Sherlock’s… ah… what? Liaison?” 

And Sherlock actually grinned at this. “That’ll do for the moment. And it has a pleasingly illicit ring about it, too.” He raised his glass, his eyes warm as he met Molly’s. 

She knew she was blushing as she raised her own glass, but that only seemed to add to the perfection of the moment.  

 

*

 

They took their time eating, and conversation remained cheerful and general -- Sherlock’s parents had a great many stories to tell of their visit to Spain, and of their most recent journey to the U.S. -- but eventually forks were laid down and the last of the wine was poured out, and things became rather quiet. 

Millicent finally seemed to gather herself and turned to Sherlock. “So. Is your friend Lestrade looking into catching this _trickster_ that’s destroyed your flat yet again? It’s not one of Moriarty’s associates, is it? Perhaps the same who created that broadcast? Wasn’t it Moriarty who was responsible for the destruction last time?” 

Sherlock had set down his glass and now seemed to be staring at the dregs of his wine, but he gave a nod and said, carefully, “Yes. It was the building across the street that was the direct target that time, of course. But the message was for me.” 

Vernet frowned, distressed. “The man was nothing short of a monster. There were quite a number of people killed that time, were there not?” 

“Yes, a few, and twelve more in another bombing a couple of days later. Moriarty is dead, now, however. But this current… _trickster_ … was… not an associate. Not an _underling_ , at least. More an old friend.” 

Millicent said, “So they were connected?” 

Sherlock finally looked up at his parents. Glanced at Mycroft, but saw that his elder brother was not yet ready to speak. 

Beneath the table, he caught up Molly’s hand, and she gave his a quick, encouraging squeeze. 

Visibly calmed, he went on. “They _were_ connected. The trickster was, and is once again, an inmate of what had been assumed to be a highly secure facility on a small island off the coast, called Sherrinford. But she -- this trickster is a woman -- managed to compromise every safeguard and, in various disguises, traveled about for months, arranging… tests? Pleas for help? In any case, _incidents_ that brought her perforce to our attention -- mine, and John Watson’s, and ultimately Mycroft’s. When my flat was blown up, we were aware of her identity, for she had informed John of it the previous day, before shooting him with a tranquilizer dart -- Xylazine, I would think, from the effects. She had been acting as his new therapist for weeks, after having killed the real one.” 

“Good God!” Millicent exclaimed. 

“Yes,” Sherlock agreed, blandly. “Mycroft, John, and I traveled to Sherrinford to investigate and remedy the situation, but were caught in her web and forced to undergo a series of experiments which explored situational morality and emotional context. Five persons died in the course of these experiments.” 

“My God!” Vernet muttered. “Sherlock, I know you have been the nemesis of many… er… _scions of the underworld._ But this almost surpasses belief!” 

And Millicent added, “It’s like one of those horrible movies out of Hollywood. And yet you say it’s the truth? How on earth do you manage to attract such _evil!_ ” 

But now Mycroft spoke. “It is not evil _per se_ , in this case. The… the trickster suffers from a severe form of psychosis, and has done nearly all her life. She killed a young boy when she was a mere child herself. Burned her family’s home. Then, placed in an institution for treatment and safety, she managed to set fire to that building as well, resulting in a number of injuries and deaths. It was your brother, my uncle, who installed her in Sherrinford, and there she has been held in secret these many years. 

“I… there is no easy way to put this to either of you, but… our sister Eurus is the trickster of whom we’ve been speaking. Eurus is alive.”

 

~.~.

 


End file.
